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“I would have! I was waiting upon his proposal when I heard he’d found another woman, one with more money than me. They are as poor as church mice, the Macleans. Do ye not see their castle is falling down? I knew that was the only reason he’d taken her and not me, because of the money. We had an understanding, me and Rory, ye see.”
Olivia felt her doubts growing, pushing aside her initial anger, and dragging up all the hurt and shame she had thought she’d conquered. Rory married her for her money. He had been about to marry Mrs MacIntyre but then he found someone even richer. Her.
“Olivia?”
She turned toward the sound of Rory’s voice. He was standing in the boat, and he’d wrapped his towel about him as if seeking some modicum of respectability.
“What did he call you?” Mrs MacIntyre gave Olivia a fierce frown. Her eyes flared as she suddenly realised that far from being a servant girl this was Rory’s wife. Like lightning her hand shot out, giving Olivia a shove, as if pushing her away could make her disappear. “He’s mine,” she hissed.
Olivia took a step back because otherwise she might have fallen. “Rory is my husband,” she said, her voice her own again.
Rory had rowed to shore by now and was climbing out of the boat. “Olivia?” The glance Olivia intercepted made her wonder if his fury was for her or Mrs MacIntyre.
“You won’t stay,” the woman was still in her ear, spitting poison. “You’ll grow tired of Invermar. And when you do Rory will be mine. He only married you because your fortune is the greater. Don’t you know that?”
Olivia saw there were tears in her dark eyes, about to overflow down her cheeks. Perhaps Mrs MacIntyre really had loved Rory, or perhaps she was simply insane. Olivia didn’t ask herself why, if Mrs MacIntyre thought Rory was hers, she didn’t wait to speak to him, but grabbed the horse’s reins and climbed upon its back, digging in her heels and riding off at a fast pace. Olivia was too busy being hurt and insulted.
“Who is that?” she demanded as soon as he reached her.
Rory had
his arms out, as if to pull her into an embrace, but now he dropped them. His expression turned wary. “’Tis the Widow MacIntyre. She’s the wealthiest woman around here, or she was until you came along.”
“Is that meant to be a joke?” Olivia asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “Is it true you were all set to marry her before we met?”
“Aye, I was. But Olivia . . .”
She wasn’t listening. Agitated, Olivia smoothed her skirts. She shook her head in disgust. “I’ve been such a fool, such a fool . . .” Tears stung her eyes but she forced them back. “Have you no pride, Rory? Is Invermar really all that matters to you?”
His face went blank, all emotion wiped from it. Even in her own shaken state she felt a chill. He waited a moment, as if carefully selecting his words, before he spoke. “Not everyone has the luxury of choosing who they marry, Olivia.”
She should have stopped then, taken heed of what he said, but she was too full of her own pain. “Although most of us have self-respect,” she blurted out. “And honour. I believe you would sell both for a few pennies.”
He looked at her a moment more and she could see he was struggling with some emotion. And then he turned away, his back stiff with pride and wounded dignity, and left her staring after him.
Chapter Eleven
Summer 1816
Invermar Castle
When Archie returned the evening was well advanced. He found Mrs Muckleford grim faced and no sign of his son and daughter-in-law. He would have liked to go to his room and rest, but it seemed there was work to do. With a sigh he went and tapped on Olivia’s door.
After what seemed a very long time she came to open it.
His son’s wife was a beautiful woman, but more importantly she had courage. She must, to have come to Invermar with Rory and then stay as long as she had. Archie had no illusions about the state of his castle, and he had seen the Mockingbird Square town house for himself. But looking at the face that emerged through the gloom of the half open door he could only think that Olivia had suffered a bereavement.
“What is it?” he said sharply, thinking for a moment that someone really had died, and Mrs Muckleford was wrong when she’d told him that it was the Widow come calling that had caused this kerfuffle.
“Rory has gone off somewhere,” Olivia said, and he could hear by the husky note in her voice that she’d been crying here alone in her room. “It’s my fault. I was so upset. That woman brought it all back, and I spoke in a way . . . I’m sure he’ll never forgive me.”
“The lad has more pride than is good for him,” Archie murmured, with a frown. “Where did he go?”
She stared back at him. “I don’t know,” she said, and then her mouth trembled and a tear rolled down her cheek.
Archie wrapped his arms around her and patted her in an effort to comfort. “He’ll be back,” he said, as if he was certain of it, when he was really asking himself just where on earth Rory had got to.
Rory walked faster, fighting the shame that threatened to swallow him up. He wished he could have been spared the Widow’s visit, just when things between him and Olivia were going so well. Now she believed the worst of him. She wouldn’t understand the desperation that had driven him to consider such a marriage, and why should she? She had never had to weigh up the benefits and otherwise of selling herself for the sake of her home or her family.
